Ripped

Innocence

Is a veil that is meant to be cast off

A soft pelt

Meant to be flayed.

Warm sand

Meant to be scattered

Underfoot.

How quickly the membrane 

Is peeled away

And the intensity of

The accompanying pain

Is up to you.

When the skinning knife asks

If you'll come quietly,

You have two options:

Bob down the rapids

In serene acceptance

Or take a tip from Caulfield

And spend the whole journey

Kicking and screaming.

There is no in-between.

There never has been

And there never will be.

One revelation

Shall be the harsh sunbeam

That starts the child's igloo melting.

Before long,

The entire white exterior

Will be replaced by

Newly-respirated mud

And whatever occult things lay hidden

Behind the façade.